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what up what up - styles p lyrics

[verse 1: styles p]
n-gga you ain’t safe tonight
you runnin mouth i’ll run in your house and strafe your wife
they don’t wanna see the general surface
sh-t, i throw the shoty to the genitals for general purpose
a lot of n-ggas hope i would slip
but i still got dope out of town and c0ke on the strip
if i don’t want you to talk or want you to walk
then ima stab you in your tongue and poke up your hips
you really don’t want part of this war
i’ma bring you to the house with garbage bags on the floor
you don’t wanna trade shots with the p
i’ll open your head like a had a doctors degree
i’m a bust-gun-ologist
n-gga, what up, what up, what up
you ain’t met a n-gga on some wilder sh-t
wanna school the streets better come get a scholarship
cold hearted criminals who i get my dollars with
sh-t go wrong, same ones i bust the hollows with
n-ggas think of murkin me
crackas think of jerking me
married to the streets, every days my anniversary
heres my presentation, n-gga spark the weed up
thugs got they own nation, ima be their leader
better read the psalms to your man
when i kick in the door with two nines in the palm of my hand
and the only think ima ask is who ima blast

[hook: styles p]
all i do is get high and think of fading you off
stay blunted and red, with one in the head
holiday styles, call me s.p. n-gga
what up, what up, what up

[verse 2: sheek louch]
ay, yo
ya’ll n-ggas gon’ listen
i don’t got a pot to p-ss in
the nickled nine glistens
it’s a f-cking tradition
i let it empty out
pop and rent the bentley out
leave n-ggas dead till their skin colors’ sauerkraut
i drink heavy liquor
i’m on my kelly sh-t
but over 18 with louch i got a naked picture
i’m in the crack building, around crack children
born that way and they mama ain’t stop yet
they keep smoking, ima keep serving, that’s a bet
call me a f-cking menace, i never learned tennis
only sport was pitching till the work finish
n-ggas faces on the back of the milk
old n-ggas getting cut up in the back of the silk
rappin’ the quilt is getting rapidly built
robert reford couldn’t control the castle i built
sheek verses go through vests and polices shields

[hook: sheek louch]
let it empty out, trunk of the car
don’t you forget it, everybody could get it
louch, the gorilla, call me a f-cking menace
what up, what up, what up

[verse 3: jadakiss]
yeah
yo, i sit behind gates
i’ll never sign states
appreciate love, never mind hate
i know i’m gon’ perish, not before my time though
run up in his condo and throw him off the terrace
if they ask me all i’m gon’ say is that day i guess things wasn’t falling his way
don’t f-ck with j, cuz i never put the tommy up
hit you and your mommy up
directly in the back of the head like i’m behind the truck
in your earth get the note, bullets burst in your throat
more money more problems but its worse when your broke
everybody popping sh-t, couple n-ggas get it on
but not quite like david, jason and sean
double r, d-block, live since beat knock
can’t rely on the royalty check, i keep rock
keep haze, flip six pounds every three days
and that’s for like four years now, dog behave

[hook: jadakiss, styles p, sheek louch]
n-ggas know, jada invented the sl!ck talk
to k.i. n-ggas, kiss bullets or kiss [?]
.40 cal kiss, n0body hotter than moi
n-gga what up, what up, what up

all i do is get high and think of fading you off
don’t you forget it, everybody could get it
jada, moi, s.p. n-gga
what up, what up, what up

[verse 4: styles p]
everybody want jesus to come, well i could send you to him
and all i needs my weed and my gun
i might shoot you on the stoop of the church, you’s a b-st-rd
my bullets move faster then coups that i murk
and i might need a sedative
they say i’m cool and i drop a lot of jewels
but i’m still f-ckin’ negative
dog, i don’t give a f-ck
n-ggas couldn’t picture that
stick you where you pitchin’ at
asking where the bricks is at
any time i’m broke then my 9 mil is fixing that
don’t make me have to lift your hat, bl–dy your shirt
i’m in the cab when it go to get your mother from work
and i always make use of my gun
hit the scene, shooting sh-t to smithereens
like i’m lucifers son
and i always got [?]
bust my gun in broad day like i ain’t got common sense
and how foul could this karma be
still smoke a lot
still in the hood
still move c0ke in large quant-ties
dog, i could body you
you ain’t go to fear the real
maserati with the [?] on the steering wheel
yeah it’s the ghost again
see the b-tch in most of men
to loud to shoot em, bring em over here i’m choking em
yeah, i’m respecting the [?], slice you neck and your ear
and then torture you the rest of the year
from the school of hard knocks so the lessons is here

[hook: styles p]
all i do is get high and think of fading you off
stay blunted and red, with one in the head
holiday styles, call me s.p. n-gga
what up, what up, what up
all i do is get high and think of fading you off
s.p. too foul to go to the mosque
every time i sleep i die, wish i was gone
n-gga what up what up what up

- styles p lyrics

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